


When Champagne Tastes Just Like Coca-Cola

by orphan_account



Category: Olympics RPF, Swimming RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Cross-Generation Relationship, Crossdressing, Drabble, M/M, Pre-Slash, Underage - Freeform, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:23:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1881531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bob lends Michael some extra cash. He's astonished when he finds out what Michael uses the money for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Champagne Tastes Just Like Coca-Cola

* * *

It’s ridiculous, is what it is.

Absolutely ridiculous.

If you had told Bob Bowman when he woke up this morning that by midnight he’d be standing alone in a hotel suite with Michael Phelps he wouldn’t be that surprised. They often had late nights on the road. If you had told Bob that Michael would be wearing a dress he would’ve told you to fuck off and stop trying to mess with his head.

Yet here he stands.

The scariest, most odd part of everything is that Michael doesn’t look awkward or out of place. There’s no shame in his eyes. Instead, Michael is smiling his best ‘aww shucks’ grin and scrunching up his nose like he does when he’s laughing on the inside. The garment itself looks extremely well made, possibly couture. It is white with spidery veins of a baby blue floral print through it, small and strapless with an empire waist; it’s barely a dress at all. It’s more like lingerie, Bob thinks to himself for a moment.

“Michael,” Bob deadpans. “You’re wearing a dress.”

“It’s not just a dress,” Michael says, sounding affronted. “It’s _Oscar de la Renta_.”

Bob suddenly feels really, really stupid. He feels stupid for going along with Michael’s strange request earlier this week and loaning the kid an extra five hundred dollars past his regular allowance for something Michael quote, “couldn’t live without.” He feels stupid for not listening to Debbie when she said that Michael had his quirks. Bob thought she meant the fact that Michael liked to lurk around the outer fringes of a room rather than going along with the crowd, not something like this. Something like this could very well ruin Michael should anyone find out.

“This is what my money paid for?” Bob asks, trying to sound like a disappointed father. Michael nods, turns and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, smoothing the dress out underneath his pert little bottom before settling down. It’s such a feminine action; one Bob has watched women perform without a second thought. Bob ponders how to further approach the situation. His relationship with Michael has taken a turn towards the strange as the boy has gotten older. Boundaries have been broken and continue to be broken every time Michael lingers in a hug a second too long. Bob's normally doting kiss to Michael’s forehead before bed has migrated from the tip of Michael’s nose to the teen’s cheek and finally to the upper left corner of Michael’s mouth. The fact that these things never happen in mixed company only makes Bob feel worse. Unsure of what to say next Bob simply asks, “Why?”

“There’s not enough quiet in my life,” Michael says. “This helps."

It’s a simple explanation with a complicated line of reasoning behind it. It still boggles Bob’s mind how Michael is so damn eloquent when he wants to be. The kid’s got a gift when it comes to charming people and it’s no different where Bob is concerned. Michael is a flash of bedroom eyes in broad daylight. He's a seductive caress disguised as a friendly pat on the back and the “ah ah ah” sound of panting breaths in the dark.

"Where’d you go right now?” Michael asks, pulling Bob out of his own worried musings.

“Nowhere,” Bob replies. “I'm right here.”

“Sounds to me like someone’s been thinking too hard again.” Michael sighs as he lies back, balancing on his elbows. The dress rides up at the bottom while the top stretches against the width of Michael’s chest, stark and flat where there should be an ample mound of breast. The creamy tan skin on Michael’s upper thigh is exposed and Bob is a man (and a weak man at that) so of course he steals a furtive glance. He gasps as he looks away, realizing that not only is Michael’s cock a hard column of flesh hiking up the skirt of the dress further, but the teen is also not wearing any underwear.

“Get to bed,” Bob says suddenly, feeling a cold sweat break out over the back of his neck. "You've been up too late already." He then forces himself to walk calmly from the room with one hand pulling down the front of his polo shirt to hide his burgeoning erection. When he gets back to his own room Bob quickly strips off his clothes and stumbles into the shower, turning on the cold water. The icy cascade of liquid does away with his hardness but nothing seems to clear the images of Michael’s body from his mind. Bob runs a hand over his face as he shivers underneath the spray, realizing for the first time that having a hand in Michael's success is the same thing as having a hand in his own demise.


End file.
